


you're a pizza me

by MistyDirtyInfiniteRoots



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Wrong Number, Awesome Clint Barton, Blow Jobs, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Captain America Steve Rogers, Deaf Clint Barton, Drinking, Grungy Boys, M/M, Quote: I learned that from the pizza man. (Supernatural), Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 05:15:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21350824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistyDirtyInfiniteRoots/pseuds/MistyDirtyInfiniteRoots
Summary: Bucky, hungover and in a funk, manages to order pizza, squinting at the flyer hanging from his fridge.Clint, halfway to drunk, answers his cell and takes the order. He goes to his fave pizza place and delivers pizza to the hot-sounding stranger.It’s the best pizza Bucky has ever eaten and the delivery guy was hot and friendly.So he saves the number and keeps ordering pizza.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 15
Kudos: 143





	you're a pizza me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ClaraxBarton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/gifts).

> I was drinking and listening to The Fannish Podcast, as you do, and got Fired Up about Wrong Number AU's, which I adore. I tweeted that deep, meaningful feeling and passed out.
> 
> The next day, ClaraxBarton mentioned they liked them too, and since I love their writing, I started sending this story thread. It flowed from my hungover brain straight to twitter. 
> 
> So now we have this -the Wrong Number AU that I pitched to ClaraxBarton, who turned it around on me. Oops.

Bucky rolls over, and gets a whiff of himself. It’s not bad just … a lot. Fuck, he’s hungry. Which is nice, it means he’s moving from alcohol poisoning phase to hangover phase. 

He reaches for his phone, eyes squinting at the bright light, and searches for the pizza flyer he stuck to the fridge last week. Good thing about this tiny ass studio is the bed is beside the fridge, so he doesn’t have to move far.

Bucky dials - 718-555 (Bucky squints again) 3400 - and waits thru the rings.

“Yo.”

Bucky grunts.

“Can I get a large fuckin pie, extra cheese, and some fried mushrooms,” Bucky rasps out.

“Hell Yah you can. Anything to drink? Ginger Ale? Beer?”

Oh god. Liquid. 

“Yah, both. But a light beer. I need a recovery drink. Oh, and a green tea, like in the tall can? You got those?”

“Sure do. Address?”

Bucky rattles off the address to deep hums on the other end of the line.

He did it. Ordered pizza, one of the lowest of low food accomplishments. Now he can just lay here in his fregrant nest until someone brings him food. 

——

Bucky moans. This is the best goddamn pizza he’s had in his Life. The crust, the hot cheese, filling his stomach and coating his poor, trembling insides with grease and melty goodness. Between the pizza, the joint, and a one-armed version of double-fisting an ice cold can of shitty green tea and shitty light beer, Bucky almost feels like he can live another day. 

He saves the number in his phone under “Feed Me.”

—————

“Yah I’d like a medium pie with everything, a sausage Stromboli, and something sweet.”

“Like me?”

Bucky snorts, his mouth pulling into a small smile. He’s figured out that the hot, scruffy delivery guy also answers the phone. It must be a small place, which is fine with him. The guy never seems weirded out by the lack of shirt. Or arm. Or bathing.

“Babe, I have a feeling you are a bit more salty than sweet.”

“You could always lick and find out.”

Jesus fuck, two smiles in two minutes. 

“Yah yah, maybe. For now you got anything chocolate?”

—————

Bucky had worked hard today. He did laundry in the basement. He swept up and took out the trash, including about 15 pizza boxes. He talked to Steve on the phone for 45 minutes about invisible galaxies, bongs vs. vaping, and the subway strike Steve helped organize between missions.

“You shoulda seen it Buck. Hundreds of people, jumping turnstiles,” Steve said, the hitch in his voice that Bucky remembers from 1939. “If they couldn’t jump, we lifted ‘em.”

Bucky smiled. Steve’s tactician mind had been legendary in the streets of Brooklyn long before Erskine got ahold of him. Luckily there was no fuckin Book of Faces back in the day, or he woulda been bared from enlisting for a lot more than his health.

“You’re doin good Stevie,” Bucky said. “Still wearing a mask, right? They’re puttin’ in all those cameras everywhere instead of fixing the elevators.”

Steve laughs. 

“Yah Bucky, I know. I’m keeping covered when I need to. Shit, there’s Tony. He got new intel about a nazi meeting upstate. Gotta go. “

“Love you, punk.”

“Love you too, jerk.”

He is so lucky to have Steve. It was hard, when he came in from Hydra, after that whole shit show. Steve vibrated with energy, needing More, needing to DO, needing Bucky THERE with him, in his pocket, like they had always been.

But Bucky couldn’t do it. He didn’t want to, really. But sometimes he just couldn’t. He was tired, and the knock-off serum seemed to be slowing down. He could get drunk and high when he wanted. He didn’t vibe out of his skin if he couldn’t run or spar. And apparently the serum didn’t fix anxiety or PTSD. 

In him or Steve. 

But while Steve worked it out with punching and organizing and therapy, Bucky had holed up and got fucked up and read books and fanfic and sometimes climbed to the top of the building to watch the city and the sky. 

And now he had found the best pizza in Brooklyn, always delivered by the hottest human in existence, and Bucky was feeling ok. 

—————

Gugh. Bucky was feeling like shit. His shoulder hurt from Hydra fuckery, his head pounded, and he had no energy. He just wanted to sit on the couch and not move. Luckily the phone was within reach. 

“Pizza Hobo! What’s the order today?”

Bucky’s voice cracked a little as he ordered. He hadn’t spoken out loud in what, a day? Two?

“Large mushroom and sausage.”

“Anything to drink?” Buff Delivery Guy asked.

“Whisky? Wanna get drunk and not move,” Bucky answered. 

“I’ll be there in 30,” his guy answered.

Buck hung up, mind on Buff Delivery Guy - Buffy McScruff. It had been a few months, and the guy was always working … except for that one time he answered the phone and sounded like he was running? And there were gunshots? He still took the order but a young woman had delivered the pizza. She looked Asian - maybe Laotian? - with long black hair and a spectacular black eye. She squinted at Bucky, sparkly purple sunglasses pushed up on her head, before grabbing the money. She didn’t offer any change.

Buff Delivery Guy had his own share of bruises, too, sometime with bandages, once with his arm in a sling. Bucky didn’t think the neighborhood was that rough. Maybe he should offer some knives next time he orders pizza. 

The guy looks vaguely familiar, too, and sometimes Bucky’s burnt-to-fuck brain tries to latch on to him. Bucky figures it’s cause he always had a thing for snarky blonds. Except for Steve, of course. Too much like brothers, even with those new shoulders and those thighs … though according to the RPF fanfic he read there was an Avenger named Hawkeye that apparently had shoulders for days. Maybe he should ask Steve …

There’s a knock on the door.

“Come in,” Bucky yells. 

“You’re serious about not moving, huh,” Buffy asks, walking in and plopping down on the couch. Weird. He has two boxes of pizza instead of one, a bottle of Kentucky sour mash, a case of fancy beer and …

“Are those cupcakes?”

“Yup,” he says. “No dishes required.”

Buff Delivery Guy kicks his shoes off and plops his feet on the coffee table, opening up a box and grabbing a slice of pineapple and ham, passing an open beer to Bucky. 

“What are we watching?” he asked.

Well, fuck. 

“Supernatural. I’m on season five.”

“Nice. That’s one of the best seasons,” BDG said. “Zachariah is a douchebag but Castiel is such a hot ass mother fucker.”

Bucky took a bite of the pizza after putting the beer between his thighs and stared at the guy. His dirty blond hair was sticking up all over, his purple tee shirt straining over those ridiculous biceps, and damn, talk about shoulders. He had a bandaid across his nose and what looked like some road rash on the back of his arm. His hearing aids - usually small and hidden - were bright purple today.

“Don’t you have work,” Bucky asked around a mouthful of cheese.

“Naw,” guy said. “Week started out crazy but I should have, god, at least a couple of days.”

Oh, well cool, Bucky thought. And started the show. … Castiel really is hot.

————————

Steve and Sam show up one morning, looking like they had run over from Manhattan - which, apparently, is exactly what they had done.

“What is Wrong with you two?” Bucky asks, allowing a sweaty squeeze from Steve as Sam guzzled water straight from the spigot.

“It’s a fine day for a run, Bucky,” Steve said, grinning as Bucky flipped him off before getting a glass for Sam who was now heavily panting, head resting on his arm. 

They climbed to the roof, where there were a few chairs scattered around for building residents. Steve ribbed Sam for flying into a tree during a mission last week, and gave Bucky shit for reading and sharing all the porn from AO3.

“Bucky, if you wanna get into a 6-way, all you gotta do is come to the Tower next ‘movie night,’” Steve said with air quotes, like a damn dork. Sam groaned. Apparently Steve, the little shit, had taken to reading some of the worst parts out loud in the common room. Bucky snorted.

“Thanks,” Bucky said, “but I am gonna need to meet everyone first. I don’t get slutty with just any large group of people, Stevie.”

“You know you’re welcome any time, Buck,” Steve said, voice getting quiet and sincere. 

“I know, punk. Thanks.”

“Isn’t there any goddamn food in this place,” Sam asked. “I know I saw about a hundred pizza boxes.”

“You can order, flyer is on the fridge,” Bucky said. 

When the knock came, Bucky opened the door. There stood a tall blond, but not The tall blond. Huh. Also, the crust was different. And the box was a generic pizza box but, like, not the same generic pizza box?

Oh well, Bucky shrugged internally. Maybe Sam dialed the wrong number. There were a ton of pizza places around.

_____________

Bucky can hear a pounding from somewhere. Hard and loud. He tried opening his eyes, but the room swam. He could feel himself shaking, curled up in a ball. But.. not in his bed. Something cool and hard was pressed against his forehead. It felt so good. The cool floor felt good, too. More knocking, then … the click of the front door. 

“Hello? Anybody home?”

Huh. Not Steve. Kinda sounded like…

“Grughh,” Bucky says. “Here.”

Sure enough, Bucky cracks his eyes open to see Buff Delivery Guy peeking around the bathroom door.

“Hey,” Buffy said, opening the door and sitting cross-legged near Bucky. 

Bucky groaned again. What the FUCK. Bucky hated Hydra. Seriously, fuck them. He was broken - they Broke him. Even with Tony giving him some medical shit, his whole body and mind just didn’t Fucking Work. And now here he was, curled up on the bathroom floor, probably puke all over the toilet, while the hottest human on earth sat looking at him. 

“What,” he managed to say, closing his eyes.

“You called, man,” he said. “But you didn’t say anything. I think you’re laying on your phone.”

Bucky felt it now, under his side. And what felt like a couple of knives. At least he wasn’t complete useless. He rolled a bit, so he could push the phone towards the guy.

“Sorry, kinda out of it,” he mumbled. “I don’t need anything, but can you push the lock on the door when you leave? Musta forgot.”

The guy chuckled. 

“Nah, it was locked tight, but luckily that doesn’t keep me out. Here.”

He handed a cool damp cloth to Bucky, gently laying it over his hand. Bucky rolled on his back and wiped it over his face. It felt refreshing. Grounding.  
Maybe he could lay here a bit longer. 

“Want to get up?” BDG guy asked. “I’d love to get you to bed.” The bastard winked. As Bucky LAY on the FLOOR like a dead rag. 

“What the fuck is your name??” Bucky growled.

The guy smiled, huge, and Bucky was glad he could open his eyes enough to see it. 

“Clint, you asshole. What have you been calling me?”

“Hot Delivery Guy, or Buffy McScruff,” Bucky answered, holding out his hand. “Call me Bucky.”

Clint laughed out loud at that, hauling Bucky to his feet, a hand on his shoulder as he swayed a bit. Damn, even in his brain-melting state that laugh made Bucky get all warm. 

Clint backed out of the room as Bucky shuffled to the bed, stripping off his disgusting shirt and dropping his pants. He climbed under the blankets as Clint handed him a glass of water. Bucky drank, not caring if Hot Delivery Guy Clint was trying to maybe poison him or not. Surely poison couldn’t make him feel worse.

“You’re not a nazi or the government, right?” he rasped as he sat down the glass.

Clint - god he was hot - chucked, shaking his head no.

“Not even close. Want me to put on the tv or something?”

Clint turned on The Great British Baking Show and laid on his stomach across the end of the bed, watching too. It was nice. Even though they weren’t touching Bucky could feel the warmth of Clint near his feet, curled together. 

Bucky actually fell asleep, waking hours later. Clint was gone but there was a container of chicken noodle soup on the counter next to a fresh pot of coffee. It was the good kind, with chunks of chicken, carrots and matzo balls that were light and huge and so delicious Bucky almost cried. 

He wish he had Clint’s number, to say thanks, instead of just his work phone. 

____________

Bucky was walking through Bed-Stuy one evening, like he did sometimes when the walls closed around him too much and the roof felt too lonely. His hand deep in his pocket and ball cap pulled low, his eyes roamed round. 

Then he froze. 

It was the pizza shop - he recognized the logo from the flyer. He hadn’t called in for pizza since Clint helped him to bed. But he was here … maybe he could just stop in? And say hi?

The bell rang as he walked into the shop. Behind the counter a person in a black apron smiled.

“Is Clint here?” Bucky asked, looking around like it wasn’t a big deal.

“Clint?” they said. “We don’t have a Clint who works here.” 

Bucky frowned as he described the guy, but they kept shaking their head no. He walked back outside, turning towards home. He pulls out his phone and called the top number - “Feed Me, Sex God Buffy Mc Scruff.”

“Hey Bucky! Time for pizza? I found a great new beer,” Clint said, and Bucky could hear the smile in his voice.

“Clint, do you work at the pizza shop?”

“Uhh, no?”

“What the fuck? You keep delivering me pizza!”

“Umm, yah? You keep calling me and asking for them?”

Bucky stops in the middle of the sidewalk. 

“You gotta be kidding me,” he said, and hangs up.

—————

Clint sat on his stoop and rubbed his eyes. What had happened? When Bucky had called and ordered that first pizza, Clint had been pretty drunk and thought that delivering a pizza from his favorite place to a complete stranger was a great idea. He had been surprised as hell when the door opened and it was Bucky freakin Barnes, but Clint took the money and the tip anyway. 

When he thought about it sober, he decided Steve told Bucky they were in the same neighborhood and gave him Clint’s number for backup. Maybe Bucky didn’t trust a stranger delivering to his home?

Clint just went along with it. They hadn’t met officially, but he felt good that Bucky was reaching out. He looked like a mess most of the time - tired and crusty. But that didn’t hide the way is eyes lit up when he answered the door or flirted back as Clint handed over the pizza. Even crusty, he was hot as fuck. And funny, and a damn good tipper. 

Clint didn’t mention it to Steve. He knew Steve worried, but felt like Bucky was letting him in on his quiet life and didn’t want to do anything to spook him.

Last week, when Bucky asked his name, Clint though he was joking. Like, maybe it was his way of glossing over the fact they’ve known each other for months and never done the introduction thing.

But apparently Bucky thought he was a pizza delivery guy? And just … let him into his home? They had practically cuddled! There had been at least five or six tv nights, where he walked in with double the order of pizza, booze and weed and just plopped down on the couch.

Clint had even thought about asking him out on a date, or maybe making a move … maybe an arm over the back of the couch? But now?

Aw, talking, no.

_____________

Bucky raised his head at the familiar knock.

He rolled off the couch, catching a whiff of himself (still not bad - body odor is grounding), and threw the door open, glaring.

Clint looked sheepish, holding two pizzas in one hand, case of beer under his arm, and a bouquet of slightly squashed flowers.

“Hi. Pizza?”

Bucky humphed and stepped back. 

Clint walked in, laying pizza on the coffee table and handing Bucky the flowers. He may be an oblivious disaster, but Clint knew flowers made him happy and thought they may work for a fucked-up ex-assassin who could possibly kill him and/or tattle-tell to Steve. Both not great options. 

Bucky carefully put the flowers in an empty jam jar, adding water. 

“What are we watching tonight?” Clint asked, noticing the tv was turned off and a battered library book lay on the couch. 

“Nothing,” Bucky growled. “Roof.”

He grabbed the beer, leaving the pizza for Clint.

Bucky kicked back in a battered lawn chair, gazing over the rooftops. The sun was setting, hazy and orange. He squeezed two bottles between his thighs, popping the tops with his lighter. He exchanged one for a large slice, glaring at Buff Not Delivery Guy Clint.

“So um, hi. I’m Clint. Hawkeye? I work with Steve, and knew you were Bucky immediately? But thought you called me on purpose? Cause I’m an idiot.”

Clint explained this around large bites and gulps of cold blond ale. 

“So, what, you came over to keep an eye on me? Felt sorry for me?”

“Yup.” Clint said, then started laughing at the murder glare.

“No you asshole, geez. I thought you’d be used to teasing after being friends with Steve for so long. He’s such a fuckin troll.”

Bucky rolled his eyes as he chugged down his second beer. It was true.

“Than why?”

“I thought it was funny to deliver a pie to a stranger. I was pretty drunk - it was after a mission where we ended up fighting mole people in the subway and I was looking for some fun.” Clint shrugged. “After that, I figured Steve gave you my number and you figured that delivery guys may be Hydra. So you called me for pizza and were just kinda not chatty.”

“Wait, how DID you call me?” Clint asked, swerving his head, swallowing his last bit of pie. Bucky looked softer, and was rolling a joint in the fading light.

“I was dying of a hangover and dialed the number on the pizza flyer I had stuck to the fridge,” Bucky said, licking the paper. “I had to squint.”

Oh! Clint hit his forehead.

“It’s Hagrid’s! We have one number difference. I thought it was really cool at first, but have gotten a few wrong calls. I shoulda known.”

“So that’s why pizza was different when Sam actually called the number on the flyer?”

“Yah. They’re good but I always go to a little dive shop a couple streets over. It’s like 70 years old and the best.”

Bucky handed the joint and lighter to Clint, biting his lip.

“If you weren’t here to check on me, why did you do it? Why’d you keep coming back?”

Clint blew out the smoke, and licked his lips. He turned to Bucky, who was staring at his mouth.

“I like the idea of being your friend,” Clint said, honestly. “And you’re hot. And you never wear clothes.”

Bucky’s lips twitched, and he knocked Clint’s knee with his.

Clint took another puff and passed it to Bucky, their fingers pressing together. Bucky had his hair tucked behind his ears, tangled and falling past his shoulders. He finally looked relaxed, the last golden rays hitting his face and the warm city breeze wafting around. He smelled so good - earthy and slightly sour, like hipster beer. Clint wanted to suck his earlobe.

“Why did you let a complete stranger come hang out and eat pizza on your couch?”

Bucky smiled a bit, then laughed. Clint stared. His laugh was beautiful - a little harsh, but happy, with little crinkles around his eyes. 

“You’re hot,” he said, grinning and coughing, and passed the joint back. “You are a pizza sex god, bringing nourishment and company. You are a terrible flirt and have good taste in beer, whisky and dessert.”

Bucky could feel his smile going soft as he looked towards Clint, whose grungy bedhead and golden stubble and jawline were looking rough and sinful. 

“Steve has chilled, but he is still intense.” Clint snorted. “And my neighbors are cool for a bit here on the roof, but you seem to fit in my space. You just … came in.”

“I’ve been messed up since Hydra. I am trying, but I am all kinds of broken,” he tilted his head back, looking for non-existent stars in this new Brooklyn. Clint reached his hand over, resting it on Bucky’s thigh. “I like that you don’t seem fragile. You are always banged up but peaceful.”

Bucky frowned again.

“But you’re Hawkeye, right? You’re not enhanced. You’re human. Damn it, no wonder you always look rough.” He turned to Clint, upset. “You need to take better care of yourself.”

Clint dropped the roach, leaned in and captured Bucky’s lips in his, hand caressing his jaw. Bucky leaned back, hand coming up around the back of Clint’s neck. His lips moved, then opened as his hand moved down and grasped Clint’s shoulder as they both moaned. Clint’s right hand moved into his hair, his left going to Bucky’s waist as he scooted his chair around, aluminum scraping the ground loudly as the chair tipped. 

“Fuck, you’re so good.”

“I learned that from the pizza man,” Buck growled. 

He pivoted out of the chair and onto his knees between Clint’s legs. He looked into Clint's eyes, lids lowered, mouth red and wet. Clint slid down the chair and opened his legs wider as Bucky popped the buttons one by one. He held to the cheap plastic arms while Bucky reached in to caress his dick, chubbing up under his touch.

“Planning ahead?” Bucky asked leaning down, breathing in Clint’s musky smell. The bastard wasn’t wearing anything under his soft, loose jeans, and the buttons allowed for easy access with one hand - if you knew what you were doing. Which Bucky did.

Clint could feel his stomach muscles clinch and managed to grunt a yes.

Bucky ran his nose up the side of Clint’s cock. He remembered how much he loved this - the soft, dry, delicate skin of a dick as it filled, growing harder. And he smelled salty and earthy, like people used to smell.

He licked, listening as Clint’s breath caught and a low moan broke from his throat.  
“Yah,” Clint said, moving his hand into Bucky’s hair, fisting it slightly. “I thought about asking you on a date, ugh” he swallowed as Bucky took his tip in his mouth, tonguing around the head, “but maybe we’ve done enough of those for now.”

Fuck, Bucky on his knees, hand working around what his mouth wasn’t on - Clint breathed out thru his nose to keep from shouting across the rooftops. Bucky’s eyes were frost blue and slightly pink from the pot - they almost glowed violet in the city lights. Clint couldn’t look away. The shadows under his eyes were dusty, but he was smiling as he rubbed the head across his lips.

Bucky closed his eyes as Clint moved his thumb into Bucky’s mouth, cupping his jaw and pushing down as he fed his cock in. Bucky panted high little moans, wrapping his lips around his teeth and swirling his tongue around as he leaned forward, giving Clint a better position to thrust up. 

He moved both hands to Bucky’s hair, getting tanged in the knots, and gently thrust as Bucky sucked and moved. He looked down. The sight of Bucky drooling around his cock, coupled with a deep suck and change in pace, was sending him over the edge. He went to pull him off but Bucky caught his eye. And winked. 

Clint curled over and came hard, feeling his cum pulse into Bucky’s warm, wet throat. He breathed out hard, and collapsed back, head rolling. Jesus Fuck, that felt good. He glanced down between his legs, Bucky looking blissful and filthy, drool and cum on his mouth and long hair even more wrecked than normal.

Bucky felt a strong hand back in his hair, fingers tight, as Clint stood and kicked the chair away as he lay Bucky down on the roof, biting his neck and pushing his grey sweat pants down. Clint’s rough hand curled around, thumb spreading the pre-come, as he took Bucky’s earlobe in his mouth, sucking and nibbling.

Bucky curled his toes and maneuvered his hand into Clint’s still-open jeans, grabbing a handful of firm ass. Clint sucked and bit Bucky’s nipple thru his black tee. Bucky arched, moaning loud, fucking into his hand. Clint let go, crawling backward, and catching Bucky’s eyes, swallowed him down whole. 

Clint bobbed up and down until he heard a low growl and was shoved down into Bucky’s cock as he came hard, shaking. Clint moaned, swallowed and collapsed, rolling over on his back and breathing hard. 

Bucky’s hand stroked his hair. Both cocks were still out, soft, wet and gleaming in the glow from the security lights on the adjacent roof.

“So, there’s still pizza left, but wanna eat later? Like, breakfast?” Clint asked.

Bucky smiled, only stopping stroking Clint’s hair to take a swig of beer.

“Sure. I love breakfast.”


End file.
